For the greater good
by damnedscribblingwoman
Summary: A tale of two Christmas Eves — the one that was and the one that might have been.


**AN: Originally written for the D/Hr Advent. Thank you very much to whoever nominated me. Getting to contribute a story was a real treat. Thank you also to the mods for all their hard work and patience! Finally, a big thanks to my beta Raistlin, for all his help. Any remaining mistakes are my own.**

 **My prompt was "tinsel".**

 **Hope you all enjoy it!**

* * *

 **24th December 2004**

What had once filled her with anxiety quickly became routine. Apparate, meet Andromeda Avery by the garden shed, grab the small wooden box full of glass vials, hurry out of the grounds, Disapparate. It was rehearsed, precise, honed over many months of retracing the same steps, making the same gestures, muttering the same clipped sentences about who else was gone or missing or dead.

Routine ate away at Hermione's natural instinct to monitor every shadow for hidden Death Eaters, to always assume there was someone watching, ready to hurt her or take her or kill her. Nothing ever happened and it was easy to fall prey to the unshakable belief that nothing ever would. Even if she knew better.

Andromeda's fur-lined white robes made her almost as difficult to spot against the snowy background as the Disillusionment charm cloaking her, but Hermione knew where she would be — where she always was.

They exchanged pleasantries without really listening to what the other was saying, and Hermione took the offered wooden box with mechanical movements, hiding it in the same pocket where she always carried it.

It was like a dance. One, two, three forward, one, two, three back. And suddenly Andromeda's eyes grew wide, fixing a point behind Hermione and it was all the warning she needed to dive out of the way, the curse narrowly missing her but hitting Andromeda square in the chest.

Hermione did not stay put long enough to watch the other witch hit the ground. She rolled out of the way and up again, casting haphazard jinxes and hexes as she ran. There were three, four, maybe five Death Eaters, but she did not stop to count. She had to make it past the Avery wards and Disapparate or she was dead, and she did not fancy dying. Not tonight. Not here. A curse flew past her, two inches from her head, just as she reached the tree line.

The moment she crossed the wards, she Disapparated. She Disapparated six, seven, eight times until she was sure that she had lost them, that she wouldn't lead them back to the Order's Headquarters.

The Order of the Phoenix. Phoenixes were reborn from the ashes, and someone — maybe Albus Dumbledore, probably Albus Dumbledore — had thought it a fitting name, aspirational, something to strive for. Hermione thought of them more like weeds — hardy and difficult to get rid of. Maybe it was not so romantic, but she found it comforting nonetheless.

She might have been born to Muggle parents, and all the magic she knew she had learnt from books and from people whose pedigree was as tainted as hers, but tonight five Death Eaters had tried to kill her — pure-bloods, raised in fancy homes, educated at a fancy school — and she was still there.

Hermione Disapparated one last time, Apparating on the steps of number 10, Maple Street. The house looked exactly like every other on that street — stone, two-storey, unremarkable. No one would think to look at it twice, and no one ever did.

The moment Hermione closed the door behind her, a red-haired, freckled little girl ran down the stairs.

"Mrs M," she said before yelling, "It's Mrs M!"

"What's wrong, Lottie?" The child looked ashen, her eyes red and puffy.

"Seamus is hurt, and no one else is back. No one else."

Hermione tried to stay calm. It was still early, too early to start worrying. She followed Lottie upstairs, where Ariana Dumbledore was bandaging Seamus's arm.

"Nothing to worry about," he said between clenched teeth. "Flesh wound."

Molly Weasley was pacing — the woman always paced — muttering ominous predictions under her breath. Lottie watched her grandmother with wide eyes that saw only too clearly the horrors described by the woman.

"For Merlin's sake, Molly," Ariana snapped. "Will you stop scaring the child? Go make some tea, will you please?"

Mrs Weasley cast a resentful look at the other woman but did as she was bid, her litany of disasters trailing behind her until it faded into nothingness. Molly Weasley had once been a beautiful woman — fat and happy and surrounded by a brood that was as red-haired and freckled as she was. Hermione still remembered her like that, the kind, cheerful woman who had taken her in — one more stray sitting at the Weasley table. That had been before.

Molly had taken Arthur's death like a soldier, squaring her shoulders and finding what comfort she could in her children. Percy had fallen next, and then Charlie, and Fred, and then all the rest. Molly Weasley lived to see all her perfect children die, one by one — cribs turned to corpses, turned to graves. Each death took a little more out of her until there was nothing left but bitterness and resentment and prophecies of doom.

Hermione sat down, trying to keep her growing anxiety in check. It was still early. There was nothing to worry about.

Her job done, Ariana went to stand by the window, her gaze fixed on the empty street. Seamus Accio'd the chess set and started teaching Lottie, who kept stealing glances at the grandfather clock in the corner.

Little by little, the others started to arrive. Lavender. Aberforth. The Potters. Neville. Kingsley. Minerva. Hestia. Peter. Sirius. Lupin.

Dedalus Diggle was dead. So was Mundungus Fletcher.

The Patil twins sent word from one of the safe houses that they were staying put, together with Arabella Figg and Colin Creevey.

There was no word from Draco or Harry or Moody.

Not a single mission had gone to plan. The Death Eaters had known. Somehow they had known.

Two hours turned to three and then four, and Hermione could no longer stop the feeling of dread that had been threatening to engulf her since Lottie had told her that no one was back yet.

Where were they? Where was he?

"We have to go look for them," Lily finally said, getting up.

"They could be anywhere." McGonagall glanced at the woman over her glasses. "The best thing to do is wait."

"Minerva, I'm not sitting here while my son is—"

"No one's going anywhere." Ariana was sitting by the fire, her eyes unseeing as she stared at the flames. "They're coming."

The seer was right. Not five minutes later, Draco walked in, half-carrying Harry, who was trying and failing to stay upright. James and Lily rushed to their son's side, helping him to an armchair, but Hermione did not move, rooted in place.

The tension of the past hours had coiled tighter and tighter inside her until it was all she could do not to scream, and now that he was here, safe, in front of her, she could only feel an overwhelming need to cry. And crying was a stupid reaction, and uncalled for, and undignified, and—

Draco pulled her to him and she buried her face in his chest, no longer caring that she was sobbing, and that everyone was watching. He was there. He was safe.

"I'm okay," he whispered. "I'm fine."

Waving away his father's hand, Harry sat straighter on the sofa. "Moody is dead."

* * *

"No," McGonagall said, her voice ringing clear in the quiet of the crowded living room. "Absolutely not. It is out of the question."

"Minerva, be reasonable."

"Be reasonable? Do you hear yourself speak, Aberforth? This is madness. Dangerous madness. Your brother would never agree to this."

"Whose toy do you think it is?" Ariana asked.

The red gem stood in the middle of the table, small and inoffensive. It looked like a cheap trinket, something you win at a carnival — _"Would the lady like the stuffed bear or the cursed necklace?"_

Lupin picked it up. "Even if we could get it to work," he said, "there's no guarantee it would fix anything. We can't foresee how it would change things. And the cost—"

"We're dying already," Sirius said, taking the necklace. "We have nothing to lose."

McGonagall pushed her glasses higher on her nose. "There are many things worse than death, Mr Black. And your brother would tell you that much, Aberforth. The Dark Lord tore his soul apart trying to keep death at bay."

"It's not the same."

"No, it's worse. You want to punch holes in the universe. That's magic that does not come for free. It's magic no person should yield. To play with time like that, to reset what happened and hope for a different outcome… It's wrong. It's obscene. It doesn't bear thinking about."

"Minerva, you are being dramatic." Only Ariana Dumbledore would ever dare to call Minerva McGonagall dramatic to her face.

"Better dramatic than irresponsible."

"Even if we wanted to do it," Hermione said, "we wouldn't be able to. The amount of power it would take—"

"We wouldn't need that much power." Draco let go of her hand to grab the stone from Sirius. "We just need to channel it."

"Channel it from where?"

Draco and Harry exchanged a glance and Hermione wondered how often they had discussed the subject.

"Hogwarts."

There were snorts all around the room.

"It would be easier to get into the Ministry," Lavender said.

"If I ever feel the pressing need to get myself killed, I'll just walk into Diagon Alley," Seamus added.

"Well…"

"Sirus, don't," Lupin warned, but it was Pettigrew who spoke.

"We know a way in."

"Or seven," James said with a shrug.

"Absolutely not," McGonagall said. "It is out of the question."

She cast a stern look around the room before taking back the necklace and walking out. Aberforth made to go after her, but Ariana placed a gentle hand on her brother's arm.

"Let her go."

* * *

Draco made her close her eyes before they walked into the bedroom. Hermione pouted at the delay, but did as he asked. She could always make him pay for it later. He guided her to the middle of the small room, the door clicking shut behind them.

"Okay, you can look."

She blinked twice, trying to get her eyes used to the light and then she smiled, her eyes filling with tears as she surveyed the room around her. There was a Christmas tree in the corner, decorated with lights and tinsel, and glass ball ornaments that glowed red and silver and gold. There was mistletoe, and candles on the windowsill, and a tray of milk and cookies for Santa.

"Merry Christmas, Mrs Malfoy," Draco said with a smug smile.

It was picture-book perfect, the sort of Christmas she remembered from her childhood, before all this, before her parents... Hermione pulled him to her and kissed him, this husband of hers who remembered it was Christmas Day even in the middle of everything that was happening. The world might be going to hell and they with it, but just then she had all the happiness she desired in that one kiss.

"Did I do good?" Draco pressed his forehead against hers, his arms warm and comforting around her.

She kissed him again by way of reply, giggling against his mouth when _All I want for Christmas is You_ started playing out of the blue.

Death did not scare her. Not really. But she was afraid of losing this. Of losing him. It was a loud, constant fear that demanded her attention at all times — not just when he was out on a mission, not just when he was out of reach. It was a fear that nagged at her even in moments like this, when all the universe fit into that small, second-floor bedroom in number 10, Maple Street.

The world shrank down to the two of them, a reality made only of lips, and tongues, and wandering, demanding hands that tugged impatiently at articles of clothing. Much as she tried, however, there was still a part of her, a small, nagging part of her, that kept wondering if this kiss would be the last one, this caress the last time they touched, this time the last time they made love.

It was only much later, when they lay entwined on the small bed, quietly watching the flickering lights of the Christmas tree, that Hermione remembered what had transpired earlier in the evening.

"You knew about the stone," she said quietly.

Draco remained silent for a few seconds, his fingers trailing up and down her arm.

"Ariana told Harry," he finally said, "who told me."

Hermione pinched his arm. "Don't keep secrets from your wife, Malfoy."

He laughed softly, kissing her temple. "I'm very sorry, love."

He wasn't sorry at all, but it was hard to hold a grudge while snuggling against him, his body warm and familiar.

"McGonagall is right," she said only.

"Maybe. But Ariana isn't wrong, either. We aren't losing this war, Hermione, we've lost it. They're hunting us down like animals, and sooner or later they'll finish us off. It's no way to live."

Hermione sat up on the bed, gathering the blankets closer around her, and tried to keep her voice steady.

"Do you understand what that thing would do?" She looked back at him, anger rising in her throat. "It would erase everything. Not just the war. Not just the persecutions, and the blood, and the massacres. This. You and me. All the good things along with the rest. And you'd do it just because that, that _witch_ ," she spat the word like a curse, "is telling you it's a good idea?"

Draco sat up as well, tugging gently at a strand of her hair. "Only a Muggle-born would think to use 'witch' as an insult," he said teasingly.

Hermione waved his hand away. "I'm being serious."

He sighed. "I know. But it doesn't matter. It won't happen. McGonagall would never allow it. Why are we even arguing about this?"

Hermione bit her tongue, letting him pull her back down on the bed, but she badly wanted to keep arguing. Because it didn't matter whether or not McGonagall would allow it, nor that it would never come to pass. He had thought about it, and considered it, and he had thought it a good idea. It felt like a betrayal, whether or not he meant it as one.

"It wouldn't matter," he said, breaking the heavy silence. "Whatever else changed, we wouldn't. There is no version of reality where we wouldn't find each other."

"You can't know that, Draco."

"Yes, love, I can."

But she did not share his certainty. She had lost too much not to fear losing more. She wanted to keep the people precious to her, and to hold on to the good things in her life — however few, for however briefly. Maybe it was wrong and maybe it was selfish, but Hermione did not believe that to build a new world you had to burn down the old.

"Why tinsel?" Draco asked, always a master of the fine art of changing the subject. "I get the lights, and I get the angels. But why tinsel?"

Hermione smiled. No more arguing. Today was today, and tomorrow would take care of itself. It was Christmas and she was snug in bed with her husband. Ariana Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall had taken up enough of their time.

"Icicles. It's meant to look like icicles."

* * *

The week between Christmas and New Year passed excruciatingly slow, and the handful of news they got from the safe houses all said the same.

Stay put. Death Eaters everywhere. Stay safe.

It did not occur to anyone to think that they weren't. Safe. The house was protected by defencive charms, and cloaking charms, and charms that hid those charms. The whole thing was like a defence shield on steroids, and they seemed more in danger of dying of boredom than anything else.

Everyone stayed in the Headquarters, no one daring to show their nose outside the door, and patience — always in short supply — was running low. They all sniped and barked at each other as uneventful days turned into more uneventful days, but none more than Ariana and McGonagall. The two had never been bosom friends, and they were in no danger of that now. Sirius, James, Peter and Lupin had a running bet on how long it would take for one of them to hex the other. So far they had all been disappointed.

New Year's Eve was just as dull a day as any of the ones that preceded it. Rather than wait for midnight in the common room with everyone else, Hermione and Draco chose instead to have their own private celebration upstairs, away from prying eyes. Just before she fell asleep, exhausted and happy, Hermione thought that a small holiday was, in fact, no bad thing.

When she woke up, the house was on fire.

She rolled out of bed at the same time as Draco, hearing the screams and shouts before she smelled the smoke. Everything was chaos out in the corridors, curses and jinxes flying by, ricocheting off walls, hitting wood and plaster and flesh.

Molly Weasley was wailing over Lottie's broken body, hers the sounds of a wounded animal that comprehended nothing of the world but pain too big and too encompassing to bear. One second she was sobbing and the next she was silent and still, her gaunt body fallen over her granddaughter's.

Hermione froze, too shocked to move or to do anything but stand there, staring at the scene in front of her, trying to make sense of it. The house was safe. They had made sure it was safe. And no one had known about the meetings with Andromeda, and no one had been born yet who could surprise Alastor Moody. Yet Moody was dead, and Andromeda was dead, and the house was on fire.

Draco pulled her by the arm and she started after him, her legs knowing better than to just stay there, even if her brain was still trying to catch up.

The Death Eaters barely seemed flesh and blood — no more than wisps of movement and flashes of light, and cackling sounds from behind impassive masks. Hermione tripped over someone's body at the top of the landing, but she did not stop to see who. She rushed down the stairs after Draco, casting jinxes and hexes haphazardly, hoping they'd hit who they were meant to hit.

She did not see the Death Eater in the corner until the flash of green hit Draco square in the chest and he fell forward, tumbling down the last steps.

"NO! Avada Kedavra!"

The Death Eater tried to move out of the way but he was too slow, her aim perfect and deadly.

Hermione ran to Draco, struggling to turn him over. He couldn't be dead. He couldn't. The house was safe. They were safe. Death Eaters couldn't be there. It was impossible. And because it was impossible it just couldn't be true. Draco couldn't be dead. She did not allow it. He couldn't leave her there by herself. He just couldn't.

"Hermione, we have to go." Peter grabbed her arm but she shook it lose, needing it to keep pushing her husband, because this was no time to play tricks. This was not time for him to decide to scare his wife to death. They had to go. They absolutely had to go.

She felt it, the moment the last wards crumbled. Peter felt it too, and it was all the warning he needed to Disapparate them out of the house. Hermione tried to scream for him to leave her, tried to shove him off her, but the man dug his fingers into her arm as they Disapparated one, two, three times, one more for cover, one more to be sure, one more to be certain that they had lost them. They stopped at the meeting point, the place where they were supposed to go if the unthinkable happened, a random meadow in the middle of nowhere.

Hermione fell to her knees and broke down crying, words coming out of her mouth that were little more than sobs. Words about going back and fighting, about impossible things being possible, about Death Eaters and burning houses. No one could make sense of what she was saying, least of all her, but she kept going until her throat was too hoarse and raw for more words.

Only then did she realise that Peter and her were not the only ones there. The Potters were there — Lily and Harry, no sign of James — and so was Lupin, and Sirius, and Ariana, and Aberforth. Her gaze fell on the siblings. Everyone else was in their pyjamas, all of them dragged out of bed by the sound of monsters casting killing curses, but Ariana and Aberforth were dressed in warm travel clothes and hooded cloaks.

"You fucking bitch," Hermione said, getting up. "You crazy bitch." She lunged at Ariana, but Aberforth grabbed her, holding her back. "You knew it would happen," she yelled, struggling to get free from the old man's grip. "You saw it. We were sitting ducks and you never said a word."

Everyone else stared horrified at the scene, too shocked to speak, but Ariana merely shrugged.

"Sacrifices are sometimes necessary for the greater good," she said. "Abe, let go of her."

The old man released her, and Hermione fell to the ground, all her anger giving way to tears that would never stop. What did it matter? The one responsible, the one to blame. What did it signify? Maybe Ariana had seen it, maybe she had even caused it, but what did it really matter? Everything was awful and everything was horrible, and nothing would ever be right with the world again.

"We can fix it," Ariana said, wrapping her cloak tighter around her. "We can fix all of it. The spell will make everything all right."

"Minerva—" Lily started, her voice thick with tears.

"Minerva is dead. They're all dead. Your husband. Her husband. My brother. All of them. And you can stay here and wait for them to come for you next, or you can come with me and help me fix it."

Sirius glared at Ariana, his hand on Lily's shoulder. "Hermione is right. You _are_ a crazy bitch."

"Maybe. But I'm the crazy bitch who will save the wizarding world. Let's go. We need to get to Hogwarts tonight."

She held out a hand, and for a moment no one moved. And then Lupin took her hand."

"Remus—"

"You said it yourself, Sirius. We're between a rock and a hard place. We're out of cards to play, and running dangerously low on people to play them."

Lupin going meant Sirius going, which meant Peter and Lily, which meant Harry. Lily knelt next to Hermione, an arm around her shoulders.

"Come on, sweetheart. We have to go."

Hermione let herself be led to the circle, her mind devoid of a will to do anything but move mechanically, letting others make choices for her because thinking had become too hard. Doing anything but trying to keep breathing in and out had become too hard.

The journey passed in a blur. They Apparated somewhere around Hogsmead, and somehow made it to the school — a passage, maybe? A tunnel in the ground that kept going down, down, down, before it started climbing back up. There were hushed discussions at the end of the passage, and heads bent together over a worn out map, and Sirius and Peter arguing in hushed tones while Lupin shook his head, pointing emphatically at something.

The stone halls of the school were empty and cavernous, the sound of their steps echoing far too loud as they crossed them. Hermione had never been inside Hogwarts, but she was remarkably incurious about the place that might have been her home had she been born in a different world. She did not notice the paintings, with its moving inhabitants, she did not see the ghosts, peering from solid walls, she did not even remark on the moving staircases that so frustrated Ariana, who resented any delay with the fervour of someone who was too close to her goal to even pretend to be patient.

They finally reached their destination, the top of a tower open to the elements — the Astronomy Tower, Sirius whispered to Harry.

Ariana locked the trapdoor with a flick of her wand.

"Hurry now," she said, moving to the centre of the tower. "We need to do this before anyone realises we're here."

"Hold on, Ariana."

"Abe—"

"No. If they're doing this, I want them to be aware of the consequences."

"There's no time. And we've come too far to—"

"It's not a discussion."

Few people stood up to the witch, fewer still since the death of Albus Dumbledore, and the novelty of it was enough to shut Ariana up. Abe motioned for them to come closer.

"The spell is designed to change one thing. Just one little thing, that will then change everything else. We'll target the Dark Lord's rise to power, and we'll try and stop that, but we can't control what comes after."

"We need to get started."

Aberforth ignored his sister. "And there's a price. Minerva was right. It's magic that doesn't come for free. It requires sacrifice. It requires giving something back." The wizard looked around the assembled group. "There's no telling what that is. There's no telling what each of us will lose in the exchange."

No one moved for a moment, and then Hermione shrugged, moving deliberately to the edge of the circle in the centre of the room. What could they lose that they hadn't already lost? She didn't have enough energy left even to feel hopeful, but if she didn't trust that Ariana's grand plan could make everything better, she did not see how it could make anything worse. Worse had come and gone.

Peter, always a fan of the dangerous and unpredictable, took his place in the circle. Sirius and Lupin did likewise, followed by Harry. Lily was the last. She stopped next to Ariana, looking the older woman in the eye.

"You better pray this works," she said. "Or I'll kill you myself."

Ariana shrugged off the threat as she shrugged off everything else — worries, morality, a distinction between good and evil — and took her place in the circle, next to her brother, the red stone shining brightly in the centre.

It was old magic, a coven's work. It started out small, a current of energy linking them all together. One minute it was barely there, the next it was in and all around them. The echo of Ariana's voice chanting the ancient words of the spell echoed inside their heads, driving out everything else. The light of the gem grew until they could see nothing else, and then everything went dark.

* * *

 **24th December 1994**

Hermione hid in one of the classrooms, banging the door shut behind her with a wave of her wand. Why did Ron have to be so horrid and ruin everything? She ran an irritated hand over her eyes, not even caring about what it would do to the make up that she had so painstakingly applied. Of all the ridiculous things. If Ron was so bothered about Viktor asking her to the ball, he should have asked her himself and not be an ass about it.

The witch sat down on the floor, her back against a desk, facing the Christmas tree that the Muggle Studies class had decorated. The small spruce couldn't hold a candle to the huge Christmas trees elsewhere in the castle, with their enchanted lights and glowing ornaments, but Hermione liked it better. It reminded her of the Christmas tree at her parents' house.

With a wave of her wand, she guided the power cord to the much-abused generator, which groaned in protest. Electricity did not do well at Hogwarts, but the Christmas lights came to life nonetheless, flickering happily, their light reflected on the tinsel and glass ornaments.

She did not notice that someone had walked into the room until Draco spoke.

"That thing looks like it's about to explode."

"Piss off, Malfoy."

"Now, now, Granger, there's no need to be unpleasant. It's Christmas, after all."

He always did this. He was always perfectly nice as long as no one else was around. The rest of the time he was a complete and utter prat, and that routine was really starting to get old.

"You're drunk," she accused.

He smirked and took another sip from the flask he was holding. "Only technically."

He sat down next to her and held out the flask to the witch. A peace offering. She knew better than to take it, but she took it nonetheless. It _was_ Christmas, and she was sad and lonely, and Draco could be charming when he had half a mind to. She could feel indignant about the way he treated her ninety percent of the time tomorrow.

The Firewhisky burned her throat, bringing tears to her eyes.

"Weakling," Malfoy said, taking the flask back.

"Where's Parkinson?"

"Abandoned me for some strapping Durmstrang lad." He glanced at her sideways with a maddening grin. "Women can be such fickle creatures."

Hermione chose not to take the bait. Once. They had kissed once. And it had been entirely by mistake. They had mistakenly kissed. One time. By mistake. He didn't get to be butthurt that Viktor had taken her to the Yule Ball. It's not like Malfoy would ever have asked her himself.

"Parkinson is an idiot," she said anyway, feeling charitable now that he was sharing the Firewhisky.

"So is Weasley."

They drank in companionable silence for a few minutes, watching the lights of the tree reflected on the wall.

"I've always wondered," Malfoy said, looking at the tree, "why tinsel? I get the lights and I get the angels, but why tinsel?"

Hermione smiled at the curious feeling of déjà vu.

"Icicles," she said, as if she had said it before. "It's meant to look like icicles."


End file.
